Voldemort's Christmas Carol
by snitchseeker16
Summary: It's Christmas time, and Voldemort's getting into the Holiday Spirit. You'll laugh, you'll cry, heck, you might even start singing Christmas songs. Spoof based off of Charles Dicken's, A Christmas Carol. Takes place in 5th Year. Part 7 Added!
1. Part 1

Voldemort's Christmas Carol

For Jenn, My loving sister who provided me with this idea.

Part 1

Snow crunched under Wormtail's boots as he marched up to the front of the Riddle house. His cloak was wrapped tightly around him, preventing the cold from getting to him and to prevent any sightings by a muggle. It was the day before Christmas, and the many residents of Little Hangleton were rushing to finish their Christmas shopping. This was not the best Christmas Wormtail had ever had, but it sure beat lying in a sewer with other flea-bitten rats. His breath came out in small puffs as he made the effort to approach the door.

He paused to survey the village of Little Hangleton. Small thatched roofs were covered with snow, and a stone church stood among the small houses. A path of smoke was emerging from the chimney of the local pubs. Wormtail scowled and muttered something about muggle filth before entering the large manor.

"Wormtail? Is that you?" called down Lord Voldemort from the upstairs room.

"Yes, my lord," answered Wormtail. He loathed what horrible deed the Dark Lord could think up for him.

There was a pause before Voldemort's icy voice called back down, "Well bring me my slippers! And don't give me those tatty muggle brown ones that you brought last time. I want _my_ slippers."

Memories filled into Wormtail's head as he thought about the punishment he had received. He walked over to the closet and removed his cloak before bending down to pick up his masters slippers. He quickly marched up the steps and entered Voldemort's bedroom. "Here," he wheezed, "My lord," – another wheeze – "Are your slippers."

"Ah, excellent! Now go eat some cheese outside, or whatever you rats do in winter," Voldemort said as he took his slippers. They were giant, fluffy, and pink. Bunny ears protruded from the ends, and small, plastic eyes were glued below the ears. At the back of the slippers were cotton balls. The rabbits' noses wiggled whenever the wearer took a step.

"Master," began Wormtail, "I couldn't help but notice that this setting might be a bit like the classic novel, A Christmas Carol."

"What?" Voldemort mindlessly asked. He was too focused on his slippers.

Wormtail began again, "Well, don't you notice a certain resemblance between yourself and Ebenezer Scrooge? You're both cruel to those around you, you're both cheap when it comes to money, and you both have a need for power."

"What's your point?"

"It is Christmas Eve, the time when Scrooge was changed by a series of ghosts that showed him the errors of his way. Doesn't that concern you even a little?"

"Hardly." Wormtail could see that his master had not listened to a word he had said. So he turned and crawled away, shutting the door. Voldemort took his absence as a cue to break into baby-babble.

"Oh, Mr. Hoppy and Mr. Bouncy, how I have missed you so. Not a day goes by when I wish I could feel your furry layers of happiness and joy," Voldemort whispered to the slippers. Surprisingly, they did not answer back. Voldemort thought he heard sniggering outside the door. He put on the bunny slippers and walked over to the door. He threw it open and met three of his Death Eaters, silently laughing at his earlier exclamation.

"Out with the lot of you" the Dark Lord shouted, and, with his face full of rage, gave them all a healthy dose of the Cruciatus Curse. Once their screaming had subsided and they were begging for his forgiveness, he threw them out the window. The glass shards broke as the three figures lay crumpled on the frozen ground below. "Reparo," he said, waving his wand. The glass fell neatly back in place.

"Now," he said, clapping his hands, "I think I'll turn in early. I want to be refreshed when I open my presents." He strolled over to his large bed and belly-flopped onto it. His face was submerged in the pillows and he was drifting off to sleep when he heard the doorbell ring. _I'll let Wormtail get it… _He thought to himself.

Ding-dong…

Ding-dong…

Ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong.

Voldemort stood up in rage and slammed open the door. He stomped down the stairs very dramatically. He threw back the front door in anger. Standing there was a strange man. He wore a strange smile, like it was held there by glue. His hair was short and golden, and his face held a sense of youth. "Good-day, Uncle!" the young man shouted.

Voldemort blinked twice, thinking his ears might be deceiving him. "Did you just call me 'Uncle'?" He glanced at his reflection in the mirror. Yep, same pale, chalk-white face and scarlet eyes. Didn't this guy even notice the slits for nostrils he bore?

"Well surely I called you Uncle, Uncle!" the man continued, "Since I am you're nephew. Anyway, I shall be getting married, come spring. And I wished that you might spare me some money?" Voldemort blinked again.

There was an awkward pause, which ended when Voldemort slowly shut the door, backing away from this crazed muggle. He had no siblings, so he could have no nephews. When the door was shut, he locked it. Didn't want to waste his magic, so it was the simple kind of lock that muggles use.

He left the young man standing there in the cold as he ascended the stairs to his bedroom. He was once again almost asleep before the jarring door-bell rang again. He decided that he would kill the young muggle fool and sleep in peace. So he once again walked downstairs (while his slippers wiggled their noses) and opened the door, pulling out his wand.

He was about to fire the killing curse when he stopped himself at the sight of two more muggles. They were older than the last one, yet just as weird looking. "Excuse us, kind sir, but we were wondering if you might offer a donation, for those less fortunate than yourself?"

Voldemort rolled his eyes up toward the sky. When had the world changed, allowing common muggles walk up to his doorstep and wake him from his naps? "I will offer nothing," he whispered in his icy voice. "Goodbye." He slowly shut the door, but was stopped by the foot of one of the muggles.

"Surely you can spare some loose change?" the muggle asked. Voldemort rammed the door into the muggles foot repeatedly.

"No. No. No. No. No!" He said with every impact, each greater than the last. The muggles face grew red with pain.

"Not even a penny?" he gasped.

Voldemort slammed the door a final time before shouting one last "NO!" as he pulled out his wand. In an act of desperation he set the man's foot on fire. He laughed, evilly, of course, as the two muggles ran away, one limping. With that, he launched himself upstairs to resume his nap. After he locked the door with magic, of course.

Once again, he was almost asleep. His ears were prepared for any noise that might disturb him. One minute passed… Two minutes… After ten minutes he breathed a sigh of relief. He buried himself under a pile of pillows and blankets when the doorbell rang again. He gave a cry of ultimate displeasure, jumped out of bed, ran down the stairs, pulled out his wand, and blasted away the door.

Standing outside was a caroler, with a cup full of nickels and dimes. His high voice rang with "Jingle Bells." The Dark Lord was beyond reason. He blasted away at the spot with his wand, firing a mass of exploding curses.

After his rampage subsided, all that was left in front of the door was a large scorch-mark. He went to close the door, but instead found burnt wood where he had destroyed it in his attempt to kill the doorbell.

He turned back around to march upstairs when he was stopped by Lucius Malfoy, who Voldemort had freed from Azkaban earlier. "My Lord," Lucius said.

"What?" Voldemort replied with clenched teeth.

Lucius was quick to notice the wizard's displeasure. "Er, maybe this a bad time. I'll just come back later."

"No, no, what is it?"

Lucius continued, "Well it's just that it's the end of the day, and it's Christmas Eve. I thought I might go home to my family."

Voldemort gestured to the hole in the wall, "Go."

"Thank you, My Lord. And I was also wondering that since tomorrow is Christmas, that I might take the day off?" At this the Dark Lord grew furious.

"'I was wondering that I might take the day off?'" he mocked in a baby voice, "Does Harry Potter take the day off? Does Albus Dumbledore take the day off? No! They work their little pathetic bodies out on Christmas! They don't sleep, they don't eat, and they certainly don't visit their families on Christmas! And neither will you." And with that Voldemort marched upstairs and left Lucius standing in the hall, his tongue sticking out at the back of the Dark Lord.

Upon entering his room for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Voldemort plopped down on the bed. The bright, yellow Weird Sisters pillow provided him the perfect comfort with it's silly little lace. He was pondering why they put silly little lace on a pillow when the sun set and the moon came out. The clock struck midnight and a ghastly fog filled the room.

"Tooooooooommmmmm," came an eerie call. "Tooooooooommmmmm." Voldemort continued to snore. "Tooooooooommmmmm," came the voice again, as Albus Dumbledore himself appeared in the fog. "Tooooooooommmmmm," he called again, this time louder. He watched as Voldemort still slept. "Tom," he called out. He was now next to the sleeping wizard. "TOM!" he shouted.

Voldemort jumped up and banged his head on the post above the bed. He swore as he rubbed his bald head and swore even more when he saw Dumbledore. He was dressed in white and had a somber expression about him. "Dumbledore?" he asked in the darkness.

"Yes, it is I."

Voldemort thought about this moment before stating "You've died? You've finally died you old badger? Thank god! Here I am thinking up different ways to kill you and how long and hard it will be to accomplish that, and now here we are, with you dead as a doornail."

Dumbledore's expression stiffened a little. "Yes, I am dead. Now Tom, there's something I need to tell –" But he was cut off by Voldemort.

"Woo hoo! You're dead! You're dead! No more stupid wizard to get in my way, no sir! Harry Potter will be dead within the week! This calls for some tea." He waved his wand and two teacups, a kettle, all atop a tray, came gliding out. "Would you like some sugar? Cream?"

"Er, cream would be fine. But Tom, I really need to tell you something," began Dumbledore, who was once again cut off by the Dark Lord.

"Oh, there will be time for that later. Right now calls for a celebration," he said as he handed Dumbledore's ghost a teacup and lifted his own. "To your death, and may it bring the downfall of the free Wizarding World!"

Dumbledore raised his teacup briefly. "Ah yes, to that." He set his tea down before adding, "Now, Tom, I have been sent to tell you that –"

"So how's death treating you? I hope all the ghosts aren't giving you a hard time. You know, maybe you should have been decapitated. That way you could join the Headless Hunt. By the way, how did you die? You're age caught up to you, eh? I bet –"

Now it was Dumbledore's turn to cut in. "Will you shut up you miserable excuse for an evil mastermind?" His eyes held frustration.

"My, my, Dumbledore. Death's brought a bit of a temper," Voldemort tapped his finger at Dumbledore, as if he were scolding him. Dumbledore waved his own finger, which silence Voldemort within an instant.

"Now then," Dumbledore said, "I have been sent to tell you that you will be visited by three spirits tonight. They will each show you the error of your ways. Now, you can either be smart and accept their warnings, thereby changing your ways and granting you a better life, or you can be stupid and ignore them, thereby ending up like me."

Voldemort thought about this for a moment. He drank his tea. He looked around his room. He tapped his fingers. When he tried to speak, he could not. "Ah, yes, I forgot," said Dumbledore as he lifted his spell.

Voldemort adjusted his voice. "Well, if I change, then everyone lives in peace and harmony. If I don't, then I will rule the world, now that you're gone. Hmmmm… Peace and a cell in Azkaban, or Power and glorified leader of the earth… Tricky, tricky." He thought about it some more. "I think I'll go with the second choice."

Dumbledore looked at him gravely. "Then you've decided you'll be stupid?"

"I've decided I'll be stupid," Voldemort repeated with a smirk.

"Very well," Dumbledore muttered, "Have it your way." And with that he disappeared. Voldemort looked around his room. He looked at his bed and his clock and his bunny slippers. The silence annoyed him.

"Hey!" he called up, shouting at the ceiling. "What am I supposed to do about this fog?"


	2. Part 2

Part 2

Voldemort shrugged and threw himself atop the bed again. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not get back to sleep. Either the mattress was too hard, or the pillows were to fluffy. He turned and he tossed but sleep did not come to him.

The clock ticked and tocked, causing him irritation. He lifted his wand and was about to destroy the darn thing before he thought of something. "What time did Dumbledore say the first spirit was coming?" he asked out into the darkness. A muffled sound came from the window.

Voldemort stood up, and, with his wand raised as a defense, approached the window. He opened the glass pane and saw to his surprise the same young man that had appeared on his doorstep hours earlier. "Greetings, Uncle!" the lad called. "I believe the first spirit will come at 1 o' clock in the morning!" The man was standing on a wooden ladder, perched against the second level of the Riddle house.

His smile annoyed the Dark Lord. Voldemort's scarlet eyes narrowed. "And how exactly, do you know that?" he asked.

The man continued to smile as he said, "Why, everyone knows that!" Voldemort pondered his response before walking to the door, leaving his "nephew" standing on his ladder.

"Wormtail!" Voldemort cried out into the darkness of the household. There was some shuffling before Wormtail appeared, breathing heavily.

"You called, my lord?" he asked as he struggled for breath.

Voldemort wasted no time in asking, "When will the first spirit arrive?"

"1 o' clock in the morning, my lord" Wormtail puffed. Voldemort was slightly shocked.

He cleared his throat before addressing Wormtail again. "Very well. Wormtail, please call up Random Death Eater Number Four."

Wormtail turned around to the open door and called out, "Random Death Eater Number Four! The Dark Lord wishes to see you!" More shuffling in the darkness. Soon after, two hooded Death Eater walked into the room, both calling each other very crude names, among which included stupid, dumb pig, fat cow, and purple fairy-queen princess.

"My lord," the one on Voldemort's right said, "This old slug insists that he his Random Death Eater Number Four. But I assure you that he is Random Death Eater Number 8!"

"My lord," the one on Voldemort's left said, "This idiotic twig says that he is Random Death Eater Number Four. Can you not teach him a lesson about lying?"

Voldemort sighed and admired his wand in the moonlight. Behind him, the man on the ladder gave a small cough. Wormtail snacked loudly on some cheese he had stolen from a muggle boy. The two Death Eaters continued to argue.

"Avada Kedavra," Voldemort said, waving his wand. The Death Eater on his left crumpled to the ground. "Wormtail, please dispose of this trash outside. I don't want him rotting on the floor, for it's just been refurnished. And you," he said, turning towards the remaining Death Eater, "You are now Random Death Eater Number Four." The Death Eater bowed in his gratification.

Wormtail straggled over to the corpse and dragged him to the window. There, he threw him out, careful to dodge the young man still standing on the ladder. "Now," Voldemort began again, "If you would be so kind as to tell me when the first spirit will arrive."

The Death Eater stood up straight as he said, "The first spirit will arrive at 1 o' clock in the morning, my lord."

Voldemort twitched with irritation. How did everyone know about this except him? "Very well, very well, you are dismissed. As are you, Wormtail." The two wizards left without looking back. Wormtail shut the door with a slight click.

The Dark Lord began to pace, giggling with glee as his bunny slippers wiggled their noses with each step. The ladder-man watched him, his eyes moving with the evil wizards every move. When several minutes had passed, the young man cleared his throat very loudly as to catch his attention.

Voldemort stopped walking and looked up. "Oh, still here are you?" The man nodded in response.

"Yes, Uncle. And I was again wondering if you could spare some money to pay for my wedding in the spring?" His grin was still shining with youth.

Voldemort walked up to him until he was a foot away from the window. "Um… No," he said.

"No?" the man repeated.

"No," Voldemort once again answered. And with that, he pushed the ladder from the window, young nephew and all, and watched it fall to the ground below. He closed the window with an evil laugh and strolled back to his bed. He was so preoccupied, that he did not notice the clock strike 1 o' clock in the morning.

With a crash the window opened, and a young maiden soared through it. She had bushy brown hair and the face of a teenager. Her body was entirely white. She came in on broomstick, which was white like she was, and landed in the room neatly.

Voldemort was sprawled across the bed like a toddler. The young girl coughed, and he looked up. "Who are you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. His grip on his wand tightened as he sat up.

"Er, I'm the first spirit," she said.

"Don't you have any other name?" Voldemort asked. All this first spirit nonsense was beginning to annoy him.

"Ah, yes, I do. My name is the Ghost of Christmas Past," she said. "I've come to show you the errors of your ways and change you for the better."

Voldemort rubbed his nose. "Tell you what," he replied, "How about I save us both our times and say that it won't work." He really didn't feel like doing anything right now.

The girl looked at him in an annoyed fashion. "Tell you what," she began, "How about I take you on this broomstick of mine and take you through your past. Now be quiet and get on the floating branch."

Voldemort didn't like this spirit at all. She had spunk for talking to him like that, but it was the pestering kind of spunk, like the kind an ant has when you try to step on it with your shoe and miss because the ant manages to fit just inside the little ridges in the rubber. "No," he said, and lay back down.

The girl put her hands on her hips. "Yes," she said, her temper rising.

Voldemort turned his back on her. "Come back when you're selling Girl Guide cookies. I'll buy an extra box if you leave now."

That set her off. She whipped out her wand and fired it at his bed. His mattress began to shake, and then it flipped him out of it like a cannon. Voldemort, along with his pillows, flew through the roof of the Riddle House. He gave a scream of fear, even though he could apparate if he wanted to.

Suddenly, he stopped falling, and started gliding. He was on the back of the white broomstick of the spirit. "Hang on," she told him, "You annoying little evil mastermind."

"Fine," he said, "You bossy little witch."


	3. Part 3

Part 3

The two wizard folk soared away from the Riddle house. Voldemort looked back and shivered from the cold wind. He yearned for his warm, cozy bed right now. He turned to the Ghost of Christmas Past and asked her, "Listen. How long is this going to take?"

She shrugged and answered, "Oh, I don't know. It could take a day, a month, a year, or anywhere between."

"You've got an hour. Go," he said. He did not want to be up in the air for the rest of his life.

"I'm afraid that's not how it works," the spirit replied. She didn't want to spend anymore time with him.

"Well that's how it will work from now on," Voldemort said. "So speed this up a little, will you?" She sighed and urged the broom a little faster.

Voldemort reached into his nightgown and pulled out his My Little Pony Walkie- Talkie. He flipped the switch and set it to the right frequency before whispering into it, "General Evil Bunny to Private Cheese Muncher. Come in Private Cheese Muncher." The walkie-talkie buzzed as his message went through.

Back at the Riddle House, Wormtail and Random Death Eater Number Four were playing a rousing game of BattleBrooms, a wizard version of BattleShip. They were seated at the table in the living room.

"A-5," said Wormtail.

Random Death Eater Number Four replied "Miss." Wormtail sighed with disappointment. "F-2," declared Random Death Eater Number Four, hoping he might hit something.

"Haha," Wormtail laughed, "Miss." Random Death Eater Number Four snapped his fingers in frustration.

Nearby, a small My Little Pony Walkie-Talkie beeped and hummed, as if it were relaying an important message. Random Death Eater Number Four asked Wormtail, "Do you hear something?"

"Nope," said Wormtail, kicking the radio under the couch. "B-7," he stated.

"Darn!" answered Random Death Eater Number Four as a tiny piece of plastic flew into the air. "You blew up my Nimbus 2000!"

Voldemort waited for Wormtail to answer him. When there was no reply, he threw his My Little Pony Walkie-Talkie off the broomstick and towards the ground below.

"Hey, Dark Lord person?" called the spirit, humoring herself. "Would you mind closing your eyes and counting to ten?"

Voldemort didn't like being told what to do. "Why should I?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Because," she replied, not turning back, "I want to give you a present."

Voldemort liked presents. Especially those little chocolates that were wrapped up in foil. Smooches, he thought they were called, or was it Licks? He shrugged, closed his eyes, and started to count to ten. At four, he thought they started to descend towards the ground, and at eight, he swore that they were now plummeting threw some kind of vortex. At ten, he opened his eyes, presentless.

"Hey!" he yelled at the Ghost of Christmas Past, "Where's my present?" She was standing right next to him, holding her broom.

She looked up at him. "I haven't got it."

"Then you must die!" he shouted, and he waved his wand at her, uttering the killing curse. A bolt of green light flashed towards her, it would surely make a hit. He was just beginning to smile when he saw her flicker. His curse went straight through her and hit the wall behind her, leaving no mark. "What magic is this?" he whispered.

She hardened and said, "Oh shut up and turn around, you old bat." Voldemort did as she told him, although very angry, and spun himself around. His eyes met the Slytherin Common Room, although it looked older. Seated on one of the leather couches was a younger Voldemort, then going by Tom Riddle. He looked no older than 12, and he was reading a book. The room was empty except for the three of them.

The present Voldemort left the spirit and walked over to Riddle. "Can he see me?" he addressed the room at large.

"No," replied the Ghost of Christmas Past. Just then a small girl, a first year by the looks of her, ran up to Riddle.

"Tom, Tom!' she cried. "Won't you come home with me this Christmas?" Voldemort sneered and stepped back, disgusted.

He turned his attention back towards the spirit. "Can't you get rid of her? Like, I don't know, edit her out of here or something?" The spirit smiled smugly and shook her head, gaining pleasure in Voldemort's displeasure.

The Dark Lord cast her glance of loathing. "No. I'm not going home with you," Riddle answered.

The girl would not give up so easily. "But my father has not been so mean lately. He has gotten better! Now he gives us two stockings of galleons instead of one." Her face gleamed with excitement.

"I'm not going home with you," Riddle said. "Can't you see that I'm doomed to a life of misery and sorrow, only to gain power for a few years before I try to attack a baby and make a fool of myself?"

The girl blinked before saying, "Nooo." She stood up and started to walk away. Riddle watched her back until she left the Common Room. In the corner, Voldemort gave a cheer of approval. The Ghost of Christmas Past rolled her eyes.

"Come on," she said, taking a hold of his hand, "Let's move on." She led the Dark Lord out the secret wall-entrance, just as the surrounding stone hallway grew blurry. When they cleared, it was exactly as before. Voldemort continued to follow the spirit through the hall. They entered through a door into another room.

This one was much more cheerful than the Common Room. Red and Green balloons were everywhere, and little icicles hung off the ceiling. Voldemort scanned the familiar scene.

Students were talking, teachers were laughing, and an annoying tune rang throughout the room. "Ah, Tom!" Horace Slughorn boomed. "Glad you could make it." An older Tom Riddle strolled up to Slughorn and smiled.

"Anytime, Professor," he said, although very sarcastically. Slughorn didn't catch this.

He drank some more brandy before saying, "Now Tom, there's someone here who I would like you to meet." He turned his red face around and beckoned a young girl over to him, looking like she was Riddle's age. "I'll leave you two alone," said Slughorn, and he departed. The girl giggled at Riddle, obviously flirting with him. Riddle merely arched an eyebrow with a frown.

"Come," said the Ghost of Christmas Past. Voldemort was all so ready to join her, Their surroundings got blurry again, and when they cleared, they were in some kind of garden. An even older Riddle, probably going by Lord Voldemort by now, faced the girl from the party, who was older as well.

"Tom," the girl spoke, turning away from him. "I'm sorry to say that I do not love you anymore."

Riddle was busy setting the rose bushes on fire. "Okay," he said simply.

"I don't want you to take this the wrong way," the girl continued, "But you've changed."

"Fine. Go," Riddle once again answered simply. Now he was setting the pear tree on fire.

"I hope we can still remain friends," she whispered, turning back around to face him.

Riddle made the first eye-contact with her the whole time he had been here. "Are you still here?" With a small smile, the woman apparated.

"Thank god," Riddle declared out loud, and focused his attention on shooting down birds.

The spirit looked at Voldemort. She was displeased to see him smiling. "Can I go home now?" he asked her.

She sighed and said, "Fine. Fine. Close your eyes and count to twenty."

"Ohhhh no you don't," Voldemort said. "That last time I did you said I would get a present, but I didn't get one." He crossed his arms like a child. The Ghost of Christmas Past rolled her eyes and tossed him a Hershey's Kiss. Voldemort giggled with glee and popped the small chocolate in his mouth, at the same time closing his eyes and counting to twenty.

At six it seemed like they were falling up. At fourteen he thought they were flying again. And at nineteen he landed in his bed again, falling through the hole that was made earlier.

Voldemort opened his eyes and sat up. The spirit was still there. "The next ghost will come at 2 o' clock in the morning," she said, climbing back onto her broom. The Dark Lord watched as she zoomed out the open window and into the night sky.

He threw one of his pillows at her.


	4. Part 4

Part 4

Voldemort paced his bedroom floor again. There wasn't much time to get to sleep and enjoy it. Nor was there any time to play Kick the Death Eater. What to do, what to do…

His stomach rumbled at that moment, like it was waiting for him to question what to do next. In an instant he was out the door and down the flight of stairs. He was passing the living room when he noticed Wormtail and Random Death Eater Number Four lying atop the table, spread out across various board games. He also noticed the twin version of his My Little Pony Walkie-Talkie conveniently located under the sofa.

He sneered as he walked into the room, withdrawing his wand. With a few quick waves, he left the room, leaving behind two grown men wearing wedding gowns, clown noses, and sombreros. Voldemort gave a silent laugh as he made his original way back to the kitchen.

As he entered the dimly-lit room, he bumped his head on a random pillar, sticking out from the ceiling. "Ow!" he shouted, at the same time lighting his wand. He opened the fridge, rubbing his head all the while, and took out some ice cream. Next he levitated a bowl from the cabinet, and scooped the ice cream into it.

When he was heading out with his triple-vanilla-chocolate-strawberry-pistachio-mint-orange-blueberry-grape-cotton candy ice cream with blackberry-bubble gum-marshmallow sprinkles and licorice-carrot syrup, he once again bumped his head on the same random beam. Shortly after, the wooden beam ceased to exist due to Voldemort's explosive reconstruction.

The Dark Lord began to walk back to his room, snack in hand. He got about three steps before the light in the kitchen came on. Voldemort popped his head around the corner and saw someone very large ransacking his fridge. "Hey!" Voldemort called, mouth full of ice cream. The figure didn't look up.

Voldemort tried the only method of compromise he knew. He walked over to the person and shouted "Avada Kedavra!" The curse merely reflected off the figure, rebounding on the wall. Only then did the person look up.

"Wha' are yeh doin'?" he asked. Voldemort scanned this being who managed to escape his curse. He had a long, tangled black beard. He must have been at least eight feet tall, for he had to bend down slightly in the small kitchen. He wore a moleskin overcoat, with a wreath of… _something _on top of his head. Voldemort disproved.

"Have we met before?" The Dark Lord asked. He seemed familiar…

"'Fraid not," the man said. "I'm the Ghos' of Christmas Presen'!" The sprit boomed. Voldemort's lips twitched. "An' yeh don' mind me askin', but wha' time is it?"

Voldemort sneered and crossed his arms. "How should I know? As you can see, I have no clocks in this house, those are for muggle filth." The spirit narrowed his eyes at him.

He cleared his throat before turning around and pointing at a small clock on the wall above the cabinets. "An' wha' is that?" he asked, pointing with a smug grin.

Voldemort glanced at the clock, then the spirit, then the clock again. He quickly whipped out his wand and demolished the clock, along with half the wall. "What clock?" he asked quickly, "I don't see any clock."

"We'll min' that later," the Ghost of Christmas Present said, "We've got more importan' things to worry abou'!" And with that he seized Voldemort by the collar and practically carried him up to his bedroom. The pair crashed threw the window, onto the ground below, and rolled down the hill into the forest. The Dark Lord dropped his ice cream on the way.

Voldemort struggled and kicked, and was finally let go once they were deep inside. "What was that about?" he raged. He did not like to be carried like a child.

"Oh, tha', I jus' had to get you away," the Ghost of Christmas Present answered calmly. Voldemort sneered again. He thought about trying to kill him again, but seeing as how last time it didn't work, he might as well try to torture him. He bent down, making it look like he was examining his bunny slippers for dirt when he was really reaching for his wand. Just as he gripped the end of it, he was shot in the back, falling to the ground in a stunned pose.

Voldemort woke up, startled by the fresh air. Many hours had passed, for the sun was now rising in the sky. He reached for his wand in anger, but found that it was not there. Sitting a few feet away from him was the spirit, eating a Whopper from Burger King. "Mornin'" he said.

"'Mornin''," Voldemort mocked in a baby tone. "I have half a mind to strangle you with my bare hands. But your death will be quick and painless if you tell me where my wand is."

The Ghost of Christmas Present doubted that Voldemort could get his hands around his throat, so merely said, "Not until I do my par'." He took another bite of his sandwich. The Dark Lord disliked this spirit even more than the last.

"Fine," he said. He knew that he was defeated. He would just have to wait for the spirit to show him the "error of his ways." He sat down and played with his pink slippers, waiting for the Ghost of Christmas Present to finish his snack.

A few moments later, the phantom stood up and wiped his hands on his coat. "Follow me," he boomed, walking past Voldemort at an alarming speed. The evil wizard struggled to match his pace. They cleared the forest in a matter of minutes and made their way onto a dirt path leading to Little Hangleton.

Once they arrived in town, the spirit handed him a cloak. "Here," he said, "Put this on." Voldemort examined the clothing and discovered it was an invisibility cloak.

"Can't you just make me invisible, like the last spirit did?" Voldemort asked him.

"Do you also wan' me to give yeh a crown and robe and declar' yeh king of the earth?" The Ghost of Christmas Present replied sarcastically. Fine, Voldemort thought, and put on the cloak.

They reached the first house. Inside, two children were unwrapping presents under a small tree, while their parents kissed. Voldemort stuck out his tongue in disgust. The next few houses were much like the first, although some had more children, others less. But every single house had a kissing couple. Voldemort stuck his tongue out at every one of them. One house had a lonely young man. Voldemort laughed at him.

When they reached the end of the town, a small doll met them. She had long, blonde hair and a model-like body. Across her plastic back was written the word "Barbie." The spirit picked it up and extended it to Voldemort.

"I'm not touching that," The Dark Lord replied. The Ghost of Christmas Present smiled and smacked the doll into Voldemort's head. The split second the figure made contact, it whisked them both away. They landed in front of a large manor, with Voldemort's teeth clenched in anger.

Only when he noticed the spirit walk up to the window of the house, did his temper subside. He soon joined him at the window. Inside, Lucius Malfoy and his wife, Narcissa Malfoy, were seated at their large, oak table.

"That fool!" Voldemort whispered between his clenched teeth. "I told him that he couldn't take Christmas Day off. He shall be whipped with the chains because of this." It was then that Voldemort noticed a small chicken between them, and three scruffy kids, one older male and two younger females, seated across from the Malfoy couple.

A cough came from the corner of the room as Draco Malfoy appeared, accompanied by a wooden crutch and a woolen hat. With another cough he limped over to the table and sat down. The rest of the family looked somber.

Voldemort turned away before saying, "I did not know that Lucius' family had it so hard. Come, let us go." The spirit rolled his large eyes before approaching Voldemort. The Ghost of Christmas Present withdrew the Barbie doll again.

Voldemort did not waste a beat. He snatched the doll and stomped it into the ground. He laughed as it's head rolled away. "Darn it," the spirit commented, "Tha's the third one this week."

"What now, spirit?" The Dark Lord howled. "What are you going to do now that your girlfriend's been shot by General Evil Bunny?" He mimicked doing an air guitar solo.

The Ghost of Christmas Present withdrew another doll, this time a male with brown hair and blue eyes. "Meet Ken," he said, and smacked Voldemort in the head again. They were once more whisked away back to Little Hangleton. This time, they appeared in the Riddle's gardens.

Back at Malfoy Manor, Lucius was scolding his son. "Draco!" he said. "Stop playing Imitate the Worthless Weasleys and eat your chicken." Just then the doors at the end of the room swung open and six house-elves carrying a bird the size of a watermelon entered.

"Father," Draco began to ask, "Who are they?" He was indicating the three children seated at the table across from them. They were wearing rags and smelled like ash.

Narcissa was the one who answered him. "They are the meal-time entertainment," she said, waving her wand. The three kids turned into pigs, squealing at each other and dancing around the room. The Malfoy family bellowed with laughter.

"Now," Lucius said through a mouthful of chicken, "Who should we declare the founder of the feast?"

Draco replied, "How about the Dark Lord?" He ripped at his fresh chicken and potatoes.

"Ah, yes," Narcissa said, swinging her wine glass, "To the Dark Lord!" She raised her glass and her family followed.

Lucius roared, "May his bed be infested with cockroaches!"

Draco added, "May he trip on thoseridiculous furry pink bunny slippers he wears!"

Narcissa contributed, "May he forget to wash his hands after going to the bathroom and thereby giving him an infectious diseases than is only spread by others who do the same thing!" Their roars of laugher could be heard for miles.

The Malfoy family was not having it very hard.

Back at the Riddle house, Voldemort and the Ghost of Christmas Present were seated on one of the stone benches. "I think it's time I lef'," the spirit said.

"Good," The Dark Lord replied. "I hope you die tomorrow. May I have my wand back?" The spirit sighed and gave him his wand. He could see that he had not changed a thing. Day had now turned to night.

The Ghost of Christmas Past stood up, took back his invisibility cloak, and walked off into the fog. Voldemort could not resist sticking his tongue out at him.


	5. Part 5

Part 5

Foggy fog fog foggity fogger foggit fog fogged foggy fog fog. These were the brilliant, evil words the Dark Lord came up with when he tried to think back on the past few hours. Fogggggggggggggggggggggyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy was his well thought out conclusion. It was now clear that he had the attention span of a housefly. But then again, it was very foggy outside right now.

Voldemort pulled off his fuzzy pink slippers and examined what the day's effort had done to them. His right slipper had a droopy ear, and half of one of his eyes was missing. His other slipper's cotton ball tail was tangled up with tiny twigs and leave bits. It's furry body was dirty with, well, dirt. Voldemort was too lazy to clean them, so he merely whipped at them once with his nightgown.

He slipped his slippers back on and stood up, deciding he should go back to the house. It was at this moment that the third and final spirit drifted out of the fog. It was trembling from the cold air and stood taller than he. A cloak hid it's mysterious form, and it said nothing.

"May I help you?" Voldemort asked, his scarlet eyes narrowing. The spirit shook it's head menacingly. It pointed to itself, with a hand concealed by it's overlarge cloak, and then gestured at Voldemort.

"Uh, you want to play cricket? Well, sorry to rain on your parade, but I think it's too dark out to play cricket," The Dark Lord guessed. The spirit shook it's head again. Now with two hands, it repeated the gesture.

Voldemort was clueless. "You want to order some tea? Who do you think I am, some lowly servant muggle?" The spirit shook it's head again. How was he supposed to know what this fool wanted? Voldemort thought.

The phantom's shoulders sunk and he put up some fingers. It looked more like bumps in the cloak fabric. Voldemort counted four bumps before saying, "Four words. First word: you." The spirit nodded after it's gesture to itself. Then it reached down to the ground after putting up two fingers.

"Second word," Voldemort stated. "Sounds like," he added, seeing the spirit hold up a hand to it's 'ear.'

"Sand?" he asked, looking at the mound of dirt the ghost was holding. "Okay, um, band, hand, land –" The spirit shook it's head violently before pointing at the sand again. "Um, grand, tanned, bland, orange, planned –" The spirit shook it's head once more.

Voldemort was quite annoyed. He smacked the sand out of the spirit's hand, watching it land. "Just write it in the sand!" Voldemort exclaimed. The spirit grabbed a stick, throwing a glare at Voldemort, and scratched in the sand "I-CAN-HELP-YOU." Voldemort thought how stupid the last few minutes had been.

"Can doesn't rhyme with sand, you idiot!" he shouted. The spirit held up it's cloaked hand and wrote in the sand, "I-AM-THE-GHOST-OF-CHRISTMAS-FUTURE."

Voldemort smirked before saying, "And I'm Bob, Spirit of Easter Past." He laughed hysterically at his own joke. The Ghost of Christmas Future merely shook his head and walked away, beckoning the Dark Lord to follow him.

Voldemort caught up to him. Couldn't these people take a joke? His bunny slippers could take a joke. Wormtail could take a joke. Even the muggles who threw rocks at his house could take a joke. But nooooo, not these guys. They were too cool for jokes thought out by evil masterminds. With their little ghostly presences and their stupid wise old warnings of impending doom.

The pair walked out of the gardens and up to the edge of the forest. On the ground in front of the first couple of trees was a stuffed teddy bear. It had little, glossy eyes and a fuzzy, fur coat. Voldemort thought he knew what was coming.

The Ghost of Christmas Future walked up to it, awkwardly, and took it from the ground. He held out a cloaked hand to Voldemort, teddy bear in it's grasp. Voldemort sneered at the thing. It was better than a Barbie doll. The Dark Lord extended a finger and gently tapped the stuffed animal. With an "I Wuv You!" from the bear, the pair was whisked away.

Voldemort stood up, once again on the site of Malfoy Manor. He cried out in disgust. "I was just here less than an hour ago," he cried at the spirit, already walking towards the same window Voldemort had been at earlier. With a dramatic sigh, he walked over and joined the spirit at the window.

The Malfoys were once again seated at their table. Well, not all of them. Draco was no where to be seen and No food was there, and they were each trading nervous glances. The three random children from before were gone, and now three, fat pigs were running all over the room.

"Great humminey-jumminey!" Voldemort exclaimed, "They've had to sell three of there children for pigs that can provide food for the winter!" The spirit gave a silent snicker at Voldemort's emotion.

The Dark Lord now noted the crutch and hat that Draco had had before were both lying in the corner on an empty chair. "Spirit," Voldemort whispered with fear, "Where is Draco, the youngest?" There was no reply. Voldemort turned to look at him, but saw that the Ghost of Christmas Future was walking away towards the teddy bear. Voldemort gave one last glance at the somber scene inside before joining the ghost.

The wizard and ghost touched the teddy bear, and, with another "I Wuv You!" they were off.

Back at Malfoy Manor…

Lucius and Narcissa had finished dinner, and were now waiting for desert. The three pigs from before were still sniffing around the room. Draco Malfoy entered, holding a plate with a piece of chocolate cake.

"Wot are you guise doin'?" he asked with a mouthful of chocolatey-goodness.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," his mother replied. She had no interest in her Pureblood Bookclub gossiping about how her son was a pig-eating mudblood.

Lucius cleared his throat before adding, "Your mother and I are betting on how fast the house-elves can bring out the desert. I bet at least five minutes, while she bet under four minutes." Lucius bent down and heaved something up from under the table. It was a sack bursting to the rim with galleons and sickles, the prize of the bet.

A second later the house-elves entered the room, carrying a large platter with six bowls of ice cream, three plates of cake, and one large cauldron of brownies. Narcissa paused a stopwatch and glanced down at it. "Three fifty-two," she yelled, "Ha! Take that you old prune!" She pointed her finger at Lucius. With a growl he took a bite out of a brownie. Narcissa began to count out the coins in the sack.

Back at the Riddle House, the pair landed inside the Voldemort's bedroom. Voldemort hoped that his travels were over. But it seemed that they were not, for the spirit was still with him. Seconds later it was on the move, heading for the stairs.

Voldemort watched it walk away, obviously wanting him to follow it. Voldemort threw himself on his bed, shutting the door with his wand. He would just let it stand there, waiting and waiting…

Waiting didn't seem to be in the Ghost of Christmas Future's vocabulary. With a bang Voldemort was pulled magically out of his bed and onto the stairs. With cursed mutterings the Dark Lord stood up and followed the spirit back down the stairs.

They walked outside and around the house so that they were positioned in front of the window looking into the living room. Inside, Wormtail and Random Death Eaters were having their annual Christmas Party. Balloons were flying, noisemakers were making noise, and a large, green fire was cackling in the corner. Polka music was blearing on an old record player.

"So," Wormtail yelled over the noise, "Voldemort's gone, is he?"

"Yup!" answered Random Death Eater Number Four, "Gone!" The crowd gave cheers of happiness.

"Gone!" roared Random Death Eater Number Seven.

"Gone!" screamed Random Death Eater Number Eleven.

"Gone!" raged Random Death Eater Number Five.

"Gone!" screeched Random Death Eater Number Nine.

"Gone!" cried Random Death Eater Number Sixteen.

"Gone!" exclaimed Random Death Eater Number Six.

"Gone," said Random Death Eater Number Ten in a very bland way, his tone dry. The polka music stopped. The balloons popped. The fire went out. The noise makers did not make noise.

Wormtail's jaw dropped down as he lifted an eyebrow at Random Death Eater Number Ten before saying, "Aw, Random Death Eater Number Ten, why did you have to go and do that?"

"Do what" came the same bored, dry, blank, dull, unexcited, unhappy tone. The rest of the Death Eaters looked at him in a shocked manner.

"Do," started Random Death Eater Number Four, "That. Your voice ruined the party. Your personality is just too dull for us. Can you go down to the cellar and play Count the Coal please?" The other Death Eaters nodded in agreement.

Random Death Eater Number Ten looked outraged. "Is this what our society has fallen to? Is this what it has become? Long ago, in a happier, more peaceful place, wizards were prized for their individuality. No one questioned who they were, or where they came from. They were each different, they were each special. And now here we are, in an age where only the "cool" kids are allowed. Well my friend, the price of coolness is just too much! I refuse to be cool! I refuse to party! I refuse to have fun!" His speech ended and all were silent.

"Suit yourself," Wormtail said before swishing his wand. Random Death Eater Number Ten was seen ten minutes later as a falling star over Paris, France. Shortly after the non-cool kid was gone, the party continued. Balloons inflated, the fire roared into life, noise makers began to make noise again, and best of all, the polka music continued in a jolly old manner.

Voldemort removed his face from the iced window. "Am I truly," he paused to think of the right word, "Gone?" His voice echoed in the chill of the night. But the spirit was unable to hear, for it was now sliding itself on over to the far side of the house.

The Dark Lord tried to follow it, but could not keep up. He searched for it and searched for it, until at last he thought he had gotten rid of it. He was just about to kiss his bunny slippers before he saw the Ghost of Christmas Future standing by a grave. Voldemort's shoulders slouched and his frown got frownier. He slumped himself over to where the phantom was standing.

When Voldemort started to speak, the spirit merely pointed to a large gravestone. It was exactly like his dead father's. Actually, it was his father's. Why then, did this stupid ghost want him to read his father's grave? Voldemort started to speak again before he was cut off by the spirit's violent pointing gesture, back at the stone.

Voldemort's mouth twitched with annoyance before he turned back to the stone. He whipped at a patch of ice he hadn't noticed before. The ice patch revealed writing he hadn't noticed before. Across it read:

Tom Marvolo Riddle

a.k.a. The Dark Lord

a.k.a. a.k.a. Voldemort

a.k.a. a.k.a. a.k.a. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

a.k.a. a.k.a. a.k.a. a.k.a. You-Know-Who

a.k.a. a.k.a. a.k.a. a.k.a. a.k.a. The-Idiot-Who-Has-Too-Many-Names

Voldemort drew back in shock. His heart skipped a beat and the ears of his bunny slippers twisted in knots. As he turned back to ask the spirit something, it pointed at the gravestone again. Voldemort was puzzled. What more devastation could be caused?

He whipped more of the ice patch away, revealing a single line underneath the names. It read:

Seriously, what idiot would give himself a ton of names? Two maybe, three's a stretch, but nope. Not for this guy. He needs five because he's just that much cooler than the rest of us.

Voldemort ignored the insult and turned back towards the spirit. "Spirit," his voice was shaking, "Are these visions of what may be or what are to come? Can I change these things from happening?"

The spirit said nothing.

Voldemort was enraged and scared. He grabbed the Ghost of Christmas Future's cloak, now on his knees. "Spirit! Answer me!"

The ghost struggled, trying to get away. But it merely fell backwards and onto the icy ground below. The Dark Lord was appalled at the sight. Surely ghosts didn't fall?

As the cloak bundle moved around, Voldemort held his breath at what terrifying, heart-wrenching, bone-breaking, soul-crushing, lollypop-dancing, blood-chilling, brain-freezing sight might be under the cloak of the spirit of all Christmas's Future's…


	6. Part 6

Part 6

The head of Harry Potter popped out from underneath the cloak. Then another head popped out, this one with red hair and freckles. "Ron," Harry moaned, rubbing his head. "I told you to keep yourself stable."

"Well it's kind of hard when you've got some psycho old guy pulling on your legs," the red haired boy, Ron, answered. Voldemort looked between the two young wizards, then the cloak that covered them, then his father's old gravestone, then his bunny slippers.

Then they caught sight of the evil wizard. His eyes were wide and questioning, and his teeth were clenched. "Um," Harry started to say. He pulled the head of the cloak back over himself before adding, "Boo!" It did not seem to fool the Dark Lord.

The two boys just starred at Voldemort, waiting for him to speak. They wondered what angry, foul, evil words he would say to them…

"Flabberghastienyougust mutteck langostopoperbobbybunbunny garandolsake twoerdop!" Voldemort exclaimed loudly. He was very confused.

"Well that was horribly descriptive," Ron muttered to himself. Voldemort was startled back to reality and pointed his wand at both of them. "You," he said, gesturing his wand at Harry, "Explain yourself. Why is my enemy here?"

Harry shrugged and tried "I dunno." Voldemort zapped his wand at the spot at Harry's feet. Ron laughed. Then Voldemort zapped his wand at Ron's feet. Both boys whimpered with fright.

"We're here, because," Harry began, "Um, because… Ron?" He turned towards his best friend.

Ron looked alarmed. "Because… We're telemarketers!" he said with a smile, hoping it would fool the Dark Lord.

"So, let me get this straight," Voldemort said. "The one person destined to rise up and destroy me, the only person who is capable of this act, who must do this to save the whole world, has now gone into telemarketing?" The teenagers nodded enthusiastically.

"So what's the cloak for?" Voldemort asked.

Ron was the one who began to answer this time. "Uh, right. The cloak. Yes, um, that cloak. Uh, that cloak is for… Er, no, no, the cloak is for… Yes! The cloak is for, no wait, hang on, it's on the tip of my tongue." Voldemort arched his eyebrows at him. Ron began to sweat, "Uh, Harry?"

"The cloak," Harry cut in. "Ah yes, the cloak is to… hide. Ourselves… from angry customers?" Harry finished lamely.

"Hah!" Voldemort cried out, "Thought you could trick me could you? Telemarketers have no angry customers! Well I'm not as stupid as I look!" He quickly waved his wand back and forth between the two teenagers.

"Anything else you want to add before I kill you?" he asked with a maniacal smile.

Ron sat up straighter, "Um, I want to add that… Um… No, yes! No, no, no, yes! Maybe, um… Harry?"

Harry had been busy munching on the Hershey bar he had just found in his pocket. "Sorry, what?" he asked, licking chocolate off of his lips.

"Do you," Voldemort asked, irritated, "Have anything else to add before I kill you?"

Harry shrugged and said, "I dunno." Voldemort was enraged. How dare these two teenagers mock him!

"Um, Harry?" Ron asked uncertainly, eyeing Voldemort's wand that was now emitting embers, "Anything else you want to add to your comment?"

Harry continued to munch on his chocolate bar. "Nope," he stated. Voldemort's wand now gave off sparks and wisps of smoke as it's owner's eyes grew red with anger.

"Nothing at all?" Ron asked quickly, trying to avoid the sparks of lighting.

"Nope," Harry said, taking a bite of chocolate. "Notta. Zilch. Zip."

Ron was now crawling away and hiding himself behind a tombstone. "You can still say something before he, you know, kills us!" he yelled back.

Harry licked the melted chocolate off his lips. "No, I really don't have anything to add!" he yelled back at Ron over his shoulder. He was sitting three feet away from Voldemort, still under the cloak.

Voldemort raised his wand and shouted, "Then die! Die, the Boy Who Lived! Die, the Chosen One! Die, Harry Potter!" He fired off the killing curse, straight at Harry.

"Good-Day, Uncle" the strange man from before shouted as he popped himself out from behind a large tombstone and perched his head in front of the killing curse. The curse swept the young man's hat off his head and onto the ground as it erupted in green flames.

Everyone in the graveyard stared at the smoldering ash on the frozen ground, now emitting a faint smoke. Voldemort looked back at the man he had seen before. He was walking on crutches, and his left hand was bandaged up. "I see your little fall from before has injured you," Voldemort said blandly.

"Not at all, Uncle!" the youth shouted, even though he was three feet away. "In fact, my fiancé says it makes me look hotter!" Voldemort's mouth twitched.

"Speaking of my fiancé," he continued, "She says she'll come to your house later and won't leave until you agree to help pay for out wedding!" His grin was more annoying than ever.

"Tell you fiancé," Voldemort replied, "That if she comes to my house there will be a funeral instead of a wedding. And that goes for the rest of your family as well."

The youth let out a loud laugh. "Ah, Uncle," he said as he whipped a tear from his eye. "You are such the kidder. Isn't he a kidder?" He pointed to Voldemort as he addressed Harry and Ron. Both of the teenagers looked at each other with wide eyes as a response.

Voldemort gestured towards the man and addressed Harry and Ron, "So, what does he have to do with your plan?"

"Nothing," Harry answered. It was better than an 'I dunno' at least. Voldemort knew that he wasn't lying. So, some random psycho just decided to declare himself Voldemort's nephew. Well, as pleasing as it was to have someone worship you, it was also annoying.

"Here," Voldemort said sharply, throwing the man a bent knut. "Go pay for your wedding." The man looked at the wizard coin with interest.

"Why, this must be worth over 1000 pounds!" he said at last. The man ran off yelling with excitement. Voldemort rolled his eyes, now knowing the man was gone for good. It wasn't even a real knut, just a bottle cap sprayed with bronze paint. Voldemort had hopped he could prank Wormtail with it, but he had used it for a better cause.

"Now," Voldemort said, thinking logically. "If you two tell me what you have been doing this whole time, I will assure you that your death will be quick and painless."

"Nah," Ron said before Harry could answer. He was still hiding behind the gravestone. Voldemort was raising his wand again when Ron added, "We'll tell you only if you don't kill us.

"Um, actually," The Dark Lord said, "Killing people doesn't work that way. The victim, or in this case victims, do what you say, and then you kill them. The killer doesn't do what the victim says, because then we wouldn't be evil. See where I'm going with this?"

"Not really," both boys said in unison. Harry was cooking up a plan as Voldemort continued to drone on about the basics and principles of being a murderer.

"You see boys," Voldemort explained, "When you've grown old and evil, you'll understand. Let's say that I wanted to kill Amy –"

"Who's Amy?" Ron cut in. He poked his head out from the gravestone a little more.

Voldemort shrugged a little. "Oh, I don't know. An auror, a teacher, a tax collector, whatever you want. The point is, Amy has annoyed me. So I tell Amy she should do the chicken dance and then her death will be quick and painless. If Amy refuses, then her death will be long and painful."

"That's stupid," Harry said, now getting into the conversation. "What kind of dark wizard would want their victim to do the chicken dance?"

"It's an example," Voldemort answered, his voice raising.

"Can Amy be a potions master? I don't like them too much," Ron called from his gravestone.

"Sure, whatever," Voldemort growled. "The point is –"

"Are you saying we should do the chicken dance if we don't want to die," Harry asked, cutting Voldemort off.

"No," the Dark Lord roared. "You both are missing the point!"

"Can Amy be a potions master who gives out detentions?" came Ron's voice.

"Will you both be quiet and let me finish –" Voldemort started to say again.

"Hey, Voldemort," Harry said, "I'll make a deal with you." Voldemort had half a mind to blow the young wizard's head off right then and there. But he controlled himself, so merely said, "What?"

"We'll explain our plan, and in return you won't kill us," Harry stated, "And we'll even let you relive the Christmas you missed today."

Voldemort thought about this and finally answered "Fine."

"Okay," Harry began to explain, "The truth is that the entire day has been one big prank. You see, we were really bored during the winter break so we thought we might have a little fun with your Christmas. So we got the old gang together and came up with a plan to make you even more miserable than before!" He said the last part with a grin. Voldemort stared at him.

"Well we thought it was funny when we came up with it!" Harry yelled over the explosions as the headstones around him were exploding. Voldemort was firing off curses like a machine gun. He didn't care who or what he hit, he just wanted to unleash his anger and frustration.

Harry and Ron soon found themselves hiding behind the same headstone. "I don't think he liked our joke," Ron said, cramming himself behind the stone as much as he could.

"Doesn't look that way, does it?" Harry agreed. Seconds later their gravestone was blown to dust as they scurried out behind it. They both collided against a random rock that was jutting out from no where.

"You two are dead meat!" Voldemort roared, raising his wand to fire the final blow. Before he fired it though, Dumbledore's ghost appeared in front of Harry and Ron. Voldemort looked surprised, but kept his wand raised over his head.

Shortly after Dumbledore appeared, both the Ghost of Christmas Past and the Ghost of Christmas Future appeared. The small arrangement of wizards surrounded Voldemort in a semi-circle, with Harry and Ron still sitting against the rock. Voldemort finally lowered his wand.

"So you all were in on this, were you?" Voldemort asked with a sneer.

Dumbledore was the one who answered him. "Yes Tom, we were." And with that he swept his wand and everyone their resumed their normal appearances. Lord Voldemort was now surrounded by Hagrid, the half-giant who had appeared as the Ghost of Christmas Present, Hermione Granger, who had once been the Ghost of Christmas Past, a very elegant looking Dumbledore, and of course, Harry and Ron.

Voldemort pointed his wand at Hermione first. "Explain her," as he jutted the magic stick at her.

Dumbledore answered "This is Hermione Granger, one of Harry Potter's best friends. She willingly took up the role as the Ghost of Christmas Past, or maybe I should say, was persuaded my Mister Weasley, who threatened to burn one of her books." Hermione threw Ron a glare at this remark, who grinned in response.

"She was certainly very cocky with me," Voldemort said as Hermione crossed her arms. "And," he added, "She did not die even though I shot the killing curse at her. Explain that!"

"On your first comment," Dumbledore replied, "Miss Granger is in Gryffindor, known for it's bravery. And on your second comment, Miss Granger is very adept at apparition."

Voldemort snorted. "Right, like some teenager can apparate so fast, that she can jump back to her original position in a split-second."

Harry gave the answer, "She's Hermione," and that was all the explanation that was needed.

"And him?" Voldemort asked, gesturing at Hagrid.

"Hagrid was eager to help out," Dumbledore continued, "And I must say, he did enjoy hitting you with a Barbie Doll."

Voldemort's mouth twitched. "And how did no one seem but I?"

Dumbledore glanced at Hagrid and replied, "The wreath he was wearing. It made his whole body invisible, thanks to Mister and Mister Weasleys' Headless Hats. You could see him because it contained hairs from your bunny slippers. In a complex magic formula I could explain it, but it is quite chilly out here."

"Well, that leaves you, Dumbledore," Voldemort said. He could not believe how easily fooled he had been.

"Ah yes, I was wondering when we would get to that. You see, I was not really dead. Merely covered in flour."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "That's it?"

"That's it," repeated the Professor.

Voldemort took a long time to think this out. "What about the Malfoy family, and the Death Eater Party?"

"Tom, I assure you that a little questioning when you get back will give you the answers you are looking for."

Voldemort sneered before saying, "The boys said that I could relive Christmas Day." Dumbledore nodded as he tossed a time-turner to the Dark Lord. And with that, the group of wizards was gone, leaving Voldemort standing in the middle of the graveyard with the time-turner.

He looked around and shrugged before flipping it a ton of times. Time turned back as he drifted back to Christmas Morning.


	7. Part 7

Part 7

Voldemort's eyes swept around the graveyard in the morning light. Drops of water rolled down the gravestones. He hoped he hadn't spun the time-turner too much. With a swish of his nightgown he apparated back into his bedroom. Once there, he examined every inch, daring the bed to explode, glaring at the pillows, waiting for them to turn into rocks as a result of another cruel prank.

He had spared Potter's life, but at what cost? Was this Christmas Day? Was it going to be a good one? A tap at his window startled him. He walked over, pulled open it, and found the youth who claimed to be his nephew once again.

"Good Morning, Uncle!" he shouted. Voldemort's eyes opened in surprise. "I was wondering if you might spare me some money for my wedding." He remembered shortly after that he had not given him the fake knut yet. The plastered grin was annoying as ever.

Voldemort began to retort with a harsh insult, but instead ended up saying, "What day is it?"

"Why, it is Christmas!" the man said, starring at Voldemort as if he were crazy.

"Ah, yes, thank you," the Dark Lord replied, and with an evil grin, took out his wand and quickly flicked it. The ladder the man was standing on landed in the graveyard, shortly followed by it's occupant. The youth managed to yell a Merry Christmas before he collided with a gravestone.

Cheerful more than ever, Voldemort changed into his cloak but still kept on his bunny slippers. He strolled down the stairs as he came face-to-face with Lucius Malfoy. He was looking dreadfully bored to be there.

"Ah, Lucius," Voldemort began upon seeing him. "Might I ask you what's been happening with your family?"

Lucius looked afraid at his master's pleasure. "My family? Um, they've been well, yes." Why the sudden interest?

Voldemort read Luicius's expression. "How much do I pay you, Lucius?" he asked in his icy voice.

Lucius was now wide-eyed. "Why, my Lord, you pay me nothing."

"I suppose you would like a salary?"

Lucius was in awe. "My Lord, that would be most appreciated."

"Yes, I suppose it would be." Voldemort began to stalk away, leaving Lucius behind him on the stairs. "If you would like your salary, follow me." And with that Lucius leapt off the stairs and followed the Dark Lord like a puppy.

Voldemort's next stop was the living room. As he opened the door a familiar sight met him. Balloons were being inflated by magic, strands of colorful papers were being hung, and Death Eaters were hurrying to put up other decorations. Voldemort gave a large cough and the occupants stopped what they were doing.

Wormtail hurried over to the door and asked, "My Lord, what brings you here?"

"It would seem that I did not receive my invitation to the Annual Death Eater Christmas Party," Voldemort hissed in an icy tone.

"Ah, yes, er, um, perhaps it, ah, no, yes," Wormtail muttered, "Oh, well, it, um, maybe got lost in the post?" Voldemort raised his eyebrows. "Er, maybe not," Wormtail muttered before beckoning over a Death Eater.

"What is your name?" he asked the Death Eater.

"My name," the Death Eater said stiffly, "Is Bubblegumos."

Wormtail turned back towards Voldemort with a sweet smile before doing a double-take. "Bubblegumos?" he questioned.

"Bubblegumos."

"Bubblegumos?" asked Voldemort.

"Bubblegumos."

"Bubblegumos?" repeated Lucius from the hallway.

"Bubblegumos."

"Bubblegumos?" the Death Eaters from behind called out in unison.

"Bubblegumos."

Wormtail kept his eyes on the Death Eater as he said, "Well, ah, Bubblegumos, may I see your invitation?"

"Uh, alright, but I, um," Bubblegumos muttered as he took out a small envelope that was covered in red lace and purple hearts. He handed the envelope to Wormtail, who extended it to Voldemort.

"Here is your invitation, my Lord," Wormtail said with a grin.

"But without that I can't get into the Annual Death Eater Christmas Party!" Bubblegumos cried out.

Wormtail did not take his eyes off of Voldemort as he said, "Pity." He flicked his wand and Bubblegumos hurtled into the opposite wall as though a large, invisible elephant had tripped into him. Wormtail gestured towards the envelope.

"Oh, I don't want an invitation," Voldemort replied. Wormtail looked pale.

"But my Lord," Wormtail said, "You sounded as though you wanted one."

"No," Voldemort answered, shaking his head, "I merely wanted to comment that your postal service stinks." And with that he turned away. Wormtail looked at the other Death Eaters and pointed a finger at his head, twirling it around. This usually means that someone is crazy, insane, or merely has a bad hair day.

"Oh, and by the way, you're fired," Voldemort added, his back still towards the room.

"But you can't fire me, for I am a Death Eater for life!" Wormtail cried out. Voldemort froze and turned around.

His mouth twitched before saying, "Then I suppose you are suggesting I kill you?" Wormtail burst into sobs at this and went down on his knees. Several Death Eaters laughed. Voldemort withdrew his wand and flicked it casually. Wormtail smashed through the stone wall, over the gardens, over the graveyard, and into the forest.

"April Fools," Voldemort laughed.

"It's Christmas," called out one of the Death Eaters. Voldemort ignored him.

"If you all do not want to die, follow me," he said as he began to walk to the doorway. The small crowd of Death Eaters walked down the dirt path towards Little Hangleton.

"Come," Voldemort called out to the group, "Let us give the muggles some Christmas greetings!" He pulled out his wand and aimed it at the nearest house. Hoots and laughter echoed through the town as the house burst into flames. Ten minutes later, the village of Little Hangleton was eight houses smaller. An army of baboons was rampaging through the alleys. People were crying out for their loved ones. A large ship had crashed into it, even though the town was in the middle of no where. Voldemort and his gang cracked up and passed out the firewhiskey. A rousing chorus of Jingle Bells: Death Eater style was heard soon after.

"Ah, what a Christmas," Voldemort laughed, his bunny slippers wiggling their noses.

Lucius crawled his way over to Voldemort and asked "My Lord, did you not say that I would get a salary?"

"I did," Voldemort replied. And with that, he took out a Barbie doll and smacked it across Lucius's head. The pair was whisked away as the portkey did it's thing.

Back at Little Hangleton, Albus Dumbledore stood in the middle of the street. He surveyed the sight of muggles screaming for their lives as they were chased by giant Christmas Trees of Doom. With a wave of his wand, the town was restored to it's earlier form, so that the time-traveling Voldemort would see everything normal.

Seconds later, they were in Malfoy Manor. Lucius was whining about his eye as they walked into the dining room to find Narcissa and Draco, both looking shocked. Draco was dressed in his cap and crutches, obviously making fun of someone or something.

"Draco, would you come over here?" Voldemort called to him. Draco scooted over to where he was standing. The Dark Lord bent down and whispered in his ear. Draco's eyes grew wider with every word.

When they were done, Draco stood back and said, "No way and I doing that." Voldemort looked furious.

Lucius threw his son a galleon, not wanting to be digging his son's grave in this cold weather. Draco examined the galleon, and after finding it to be satisfactory, did what the Dark Lord asked.

"God bless us, everyone," he announced through clenched teeth.

Lucius sighed. Narcissa cried. Voldemort gave an evil laugh. His bunny slippers wiggled their noses.


End file.
